Southwards
by Sydney Z. Hampshire
Summary: Winter is drawing in on Rocket Town, and Cid gets the craving to go the way of the Geese: Southwards. Mild Valenwind and an huge indulgence of writing about the ship.


**Title:** Southwards  
**Author:** ObloquyCondemed (me)  
**Rating:** 'T' For the obligatory course language of and some extremely mild implied shonen-ai  
**Pairing:** Cid/Vincent  
**Author's note:** For anyone hunting for a story focusing on the characters, you might be disappointed, while this started out as one; it seems to indulge terribly my love of wittering on about the Highwind herself, and Rocket Town.  
**Muses:** Enide-Dear's Valenwind stories

The woodpeckers, as Vincent had come to think of them as, where out in full force for the last overhaul of the year, winter was drawing in fast, at night the honking geese flew overhead towards the south, from the Northern Boundaries, Cid had said, where they graze in the lowlands around Bone Village, and during the rapidly shortening days, the great airship baring it's creator's name was as bustling as the town it was docked in.

Rocket Town was bristling was activity, the old gantry was checked over -it would be devastating if it fell in a winter storm- and hangers were being secured, the pilots of the antisocial little town were sorrowfully locking their planes away for the cold months, and the great road out of town towards the south-west looked like an ant run, full of people going to and fro from the larger towns, stocking up for winter and keeping the road open with maintenance.

The Highwind overhaul would last about a fortnight, if nothing went wrong or was discovered, most of the furnishings were ripped out, the floors were all lifted, the pipes and systems flushed out and the electronic engineers were 'let out' and given full run of the ship for a few days, when they gave the all clear the mechanics and technical engineers would move in. Cid, proud swaggering Captain of the ship, would vanish into the fray in the mornings, and reappear in the evening smeared in oil, grease, and all the other slick lubricants used to keep the Highwind's mechanics working fine. More often than not Cid would also be boasting multiple ugly bruises, mild electrical and heat burns and muscle strains, why boasting? Who could say, but the happy, tired, grin on his grot smeared face was always worth seeing.

And there was the great cleaning, this was dedicated to the wives of the crewmen (and the husbands of the crewwomen, who weren't quite as common,) and it would take place in the great fields around the airship, Vincent had momentarily thought this rather unfair, but most of the women disagreed, declaring that it was great fun! They got to chat without being accused of wasting time better spent on fixing things, and best of all they could embarrass their partners as much as they liked, informing them loudly that they'd "Missed a bit" or "HAROLD! THERE'S A RIP IN YOUR PANTS!"  
The gunman admitted it was amusing to see, but he was thankful he wasn't at the receiving end of the Rocket Town women's' scathing wit, "Keep flattering us, Mr Valentine," they said, "and you won't be."

The 'woodpeckers' were the red and black garbed crew climbing, sometimes abseiling, across the hull of the ship. In their hands were small long handled rubber hammers, they would spend days climbing across the airship, tap-tap-tapping against the brittle metal hull, engines, rudders, wings, anything and everything that may or may not break in flight. They'd hang over panels, their soft rubber soled shoes gripping well as they crouched in midair, one hand on the 'handles' littered over the hull, their hammers tapping, head cocked to one side listening intently to the sound. When they found no issue they'd whoop happily, draw a large tick on it with a thick non-permanent pen and move on, when a flaw was found in the honey comb structure hidden beneath the outer shell a barking call that Vincent could never quite understand would be sent out, a thick cross was drawn on with the red spray can held in the discoverer's belt, and then they'd move on. Following the woodpeckers were those who'd change out the faulty shell sections and further on the cleaners and painters; the former had the tedious job of cleaning the hull, the painters were only needed to go over the Highwind's nose-art, tags and pinup.

"Chief," Vincent had once asked, "Why not set up scaffolding for the crew to use, surely it would be safer?" but Cid had shrugged, said "Yup, probably, but this is quicker, cheaper, and so much more fun." Vincent didn't believe that was a reasonable excuse, but Cid had just hopped over the edge of the portside engine cowling to help repaint the Bikini Babe, and he didn't get a chance to say so.

Now however, Vincent was seated on the thick fence post holding up one side of the gate out of Cid's backyard, behind him the Tiny Bronco sat patiently waiting to be moved into its hanger, inside Shera was cleaning fervently, around here there wasn't just a Spring clean, there was a Summer, Autumn and Winter one too, each one coinciding with the Highwind's quarterly overhaul, which in households all over town, signalled the arrival of mud, oils, torn up grass, iron shavings, 'crimson lake' red paint, a lot of tea, and copious amounts of spilt water and grime, he raised his hand in greeting when he saw Cid striding over the flattened grass towards him, "Hay hay! Vincent!" he called, and even at a distance the gunman saw the bright blue eyes of his friend glittering behind a layer of grease.

"Sorry, I ain't been a very fuckin' good host have I?" Cid asked into his steaming tea cup, Vincent glanced at him, wondering if the more than slightly eccentric pilot was talking to him, or the drink, "Vin?"  
"What do you mean, Highwind?"  
"Well I ask ya to stay for the Winter, 'can't have ya freezin' out there' I said, and what do I do? I fuck off to the ship everyday."  
"I don't mind. You have work to do," Vincent turned back to his own cup, nestled between his hands, resting on the newspaper covered kitchen table, his eyes rested momentarily on the condensation building up on his claw, but to Cid's relief, didn't sigh mournfully and remove the appendage from sight.  
"Well, anyway," Cid said, "We'll be finished soon, a day or two at the most, just finishin' up now really, and… well…" he fidgeted awkwardly and Vincent looked up, "Well I've been wanting to ask you something…"  
"What is it?" the query hung in the air, lurked shyly in the smell of tea and grease, and then, finally got an answer in the form of the provocative cries of geese in the late afternoon air. Vincent instinctively turned to face the window, a useless movement, but one shared, it would seem, by most creatures; to turn towards the sound, it meant however, that his eyes had been removed from the pilot sitting opposite him.

There was a clatter as Cid's chair fell over backwards and he rushed around the table to grab Vincent and pull him into standing up, "Cid! What are you doing?" Vincent demanded, grateful for a lack of hot tea suddenly being spilt over his lap, in fact only his quick reactions saved him from that.  
"Vincent! Come with me?"  
"Where are you going? Cid, you're making less sense than normal," he frowned at the exuberant, yet fear laced, face in front of him, there was a smutty patch on Cid's nose, Vincent resisted the urge to wipe it off, "I wanna go away this Winter, ever since the geese started flyin' over, I've known that's what I wanted, will you join me?"  
Vincent chuckled, "You want to fly south, Cid?" the pilot frowned, and Vincent's smile softened, "Where to?"  
"Gongaga? Or… Or that area?" Cid faltered as the taller man stepped away and right over to the window, Vincent appeared indecisive, certainly puzzled, as he often was by Cid's sudden moods, whatever form they took, eventually however, he turned and smiled, "Well now," he said, "I see no reason why not. Sure Chief, I'll fly south with you. To Gongaga."  
Cid crowed in delight, jumped forwards, "Thank ya Vince!" up on his toes and kissed Vincent on the cheek, flushed red, "Thanks," and hurried out of the room back to the ship, where he had, no doubt, to finish up for the night.

Shera yelped when Cid rushed past her on his way out, she looked up, puzzled, at Vincent, "Did I miss something?"

Two days later Vincent slung his small backpack over his shoulder and step out into the clear morning, it was chilly, and even Vincent's cool breath rose in clouds. The Tiny Bronco was sitting under the shadow of the airship, Cid sat on the wing, he was wrapped up firmly in a thick Jumper fur flight jacket, his thoughts appeared elsewhere, but he didn't jump when Vincent walked up to the small aeroplane.  
"So, ready to go Vince?"  
"Sure thing chief," Vincent smiled and let the pilot of their little expedition take his things and store them away under the seats.

It was unusual for someone else to be ready for a flight before Cid, but this time Vincent found himself waiting, his companion was hovering a distance away, giving the ship and once over with concerned eyes, he wasn't the only one going away this year, the Highwind was always moved, she went to Junon to escape the bad weather, there she'd be tethered down strong and immovable, facing into the strong winds. She would be flown over by a minimal number of her crew, who'd be on stand by all winter in case something went wrong. Cid rarely went with her, but he was always worried, "Highwind, I hate to hurry you, but if you've finished your gander at the ship…?"  
Cid looked over his shoulder and grinned, "Gander…?" an odd look appeared on his face, "Honk!" he cried happily and leapt to the controls, "Well then," he chirruped, "If ya've finished arsin' around—" Vincent gently cuffed his arm, "—shall we be goin'?"

I've heard mention that the 'tap test' is no longer a viable test, that it is not guarantied to find flaws, but I fell in love with the idea, and so it stays in my stories, as do many other rather romanticized ideals.

The nickname '' belongs to *MakoRedEyes


End file.
